


clotting

by hectorpriamides



Series: bloodbank [4]
Category: The Kane Chronicles
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Established Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-29 10:29:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17806328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hectorpriamides/pseuds/hectorpriamides
Summary: small snippets of life of carter and horus kane between ‘platelets’ and ‘plasma’





	clotting

**Author's Note:**

> to differentiate this one from other works, i didn’t tack on the vi section. i’m also sorry for the random instances of tab; normally when i transfer a work it doesn’t retain the tab, & i wish i knew why it was so inconsistent.

i.

Carter’s cold, that much he can figure, tucked beneath two thin blankets. Horus lets his instincts do their immediate desire, shedding his coat and draping it over his little prince. Almost instantaneously Carter offers him a smile, so open despite Julius lingering in the doorway.

“Oh, what did you do?” Seeing the Kane father always sets Horus on edge more than he’s willing to admit to Carter. “I let you out of my sight for a few hours,” Horus lightly chides, sitting in the chair beside the bed. The Lysol that permeates the air bothers his nose, but it’s his mortal king laid up in a hospital bed. Anything for him.

   Despite the…IVs? ivy? stuck in his hand, Carter grabs for his, calloused fingers squeezing. “I fainted at work. They made me come.” Meticulous beeping of various machines irritate his ears as well, but it’s Carter. He’s been to hell and back with this mortal. “You didn’t answer your phone, which is why Dad’s here,” he explains, brilliant hazel eyes blazing yet.

    Horus would flush if not for the aforementioned _Dad’s_ presence. “I don’t know where my phone even is, little prince. You know the best way to contact me.” Mentally. Sure, he’s still slow that way, but when it comes to Carter (Carter in duress, too) he’s gotten faster. “Why did you faint?” he asks softly. Gods, letting instinct peak out for a moment was a mistake; now all he wants is to curl up around his mortal.

    “I did try that way. All I got was static. They’re keeping me overnight. I hit my head.” Horus hears the beginning of a whine. Whining in front of his father is…odd. Carter’s normally composed with his affections around Julius. But he’s sick, to some degree, and Horus pins it on that.

    “What did you do?” Horus asks. “Sit up, won’t you? Can I put my arm around you?” he asks. The boy pays careful mind to the wires embedded in him, scooting closer. The pole comes forward too, and Carter’s hand rests on his knee. “You know how I worry about you,” he chides, Carter’s mess of curls on his chest. He ruins these curls daily, but now he wants his arms around him, and he does just that.

He sighs. “I skipped lunch a few times, and I haven’t been eating breakfast. One, I don’t want to. And two, I don’t have time for lunch,” he finished. His breath was even, impressive for the slight he’s made, but he’d rather this than the panic.

“Then you make time. I have no problem with supervising your meals again.” _That_ isn’t playful. “You’re not a teenager anymore. In fact-”

    “I asked you to not get mad,” he interrupts. “Just hold me, won’t you? I’ll start eating again. And I think I have a concussion, so I’ll be home for a few days.” He speaks much firmer than he expected out of him.

    Horus gives pause. “...did you drag me here just to use me as a pillow?” Carter nods. At least the boy is honest. He can appreciate that. “Fine. You have felt lighter.”

    “How can you even notice?” Carter relaxes a little more.

    He shrugs. “You’re lithe enough. It’s easy to notice when you lose weight. Why do you think I fret so much when you go on missions?”

    Carter does give him a sly glance, bridled with vaguely concealed emotion. “Because that’s what you do. I hope by this point you’ve figured out I’m more than capable of taking care of myself,” he says, settling heavily against his chest.

    “Where are we?”   

    “...fair.”

    Horus lets his hand wander. The kid’s spent a few weeks intermittently in Egypt and it shows in his skin, warmer and comforting to the touch. Egypt is as much a place as it is an idea, and Carter is his proof of that, skin reeking of the desert. “You’re home for a few days?” he echoes, touching his bare skin beneath the robe. Carter nods. “As in our home, not traveling?”

    Carter nods again. “Sadie and Amos know. They’re handling things,” he says easily, “I’ll be back...Tuesday,” he says next.

    “So I shouldn’t take you out?”

    “Much as I love it, no.”

    Horus kisses his head. “Got it.”

Unfortunately, the staff steal Carter away for some kind of test. Horus has to sign a form about visitation and spousal rights (“I told you so”), then he’s left alone while Carter’s gone. Julius’ fingers remain white on the arm of his chair. They don’t speak, they don’t ever, and with Carter’s return, it is confirmed that he has a concussion. The boy sits back in his own bed, pressed thigh to thigh, requesting a chair for Horus to sleep in, one of those awkward recliners he slept in after Dominic Parennefer was born.

    (carter does spend the night in the hospital; horus is practically on the edge of the bed, but carter doesn’t mind, curled towards him. the boy made sure they wouldn’t be disturbed and they’re only bothered once, checked up on around three in the morning.)

ii.

       Ruby Kane is something of the royal mother. She is attractive in the way all queen-mothers are. He watches his boy interact with Ruby in that way mothers and sons do. It isn’t a loud day; the office reeks of that cleaning product that starts with an _f_ who’s name he cannot recall.

    Horus lounges on the couch situated in her office. He plays with a puzzle, one he won’t break, decorated in his linens and skins, crown resting on the coffee table. The handle of his khopesh dug into his hip. It’s his lunch break and he wanted to see Carter, of course, which led him to Ruby Kane’s office. Pictures are pinned to the wall (one of him, even), a fancy fish-box on her desk, and the shelves are lined with odd books and shelves of...something. It’s far above Horus’ intelligence level. He can say that without shame.

    And...Carter. He doesn’t know why he’s here. But he’s within eyesight, and that’s enough. They spent a week together of no interruptions, so they need some time to come down from the attention. Always.

    He manages to tune them out, large words that exceed his intelligence too. With a bit of frustration, he solves the puzzle, taking the keg apart with ease. Another forty minutes of lunch. Sighing, he slouches further down on the couch, drawing a pillow over his face. There isn’t enough time to sleep. He won’t begrudge Ruby with his whining, however. Carter will make time for him.

    Something smacks against his leg, and he peeks down at it. Carter’s phone, left open to a note that says _Love you_. Horus smiles, and plays through the same level of a puzzle game focused on cutting through ‘dirt’ and redirecting water. Carter found it hilarious and cute, indulging in his habits.

    It takes another twenty minutes for Ruby to leave. He looks back at Carter, trying to be as welcoming as possible. He wants his princeling. “I have to go soon,” he complains, “but you should try on the crown.”

    “Isn’t that sacred?” Carter replies, wry smile on his face. He stands from the desk, chair scraping against the floor. He comes closer, dropping to a squat beside the couch. Horus turns further over to face him properly, patting his cheek.

    “So are you, my little god-king. It is your right.”

    Carter sighs, kissing his forehead. “Oh well. I have my own,” he answers, one that he rarely wears out of fear. His fingers play with the robes, brushing the soft fabric. “Why are you so dressed up today?”

    Shrugging, “Full court. You should attend. It is also your right.” Horus grabs his hand, kissing his knuckles. “But you won’t. You can’t evade your kingship forever.”

    The mortal boy shifts. “I am handling my mortal responsibilities first. You know that as well. This is a lot for a boy to take in.”

    Horus grins, kissing his knuckles again. “They won’t be mortal for long,” he snarks. “You’ll look downright beautiful with the godly glow.” He pulls Carter closer, dragging the boy to sit on his stomach.

The boy adjusts a little to get comfortable, gentle smile tugging at his lips. “You don’t glow, despite how pretty of a bird you are,” he says. “Or is this one of those god-only things?” _Pretty bird_ rattles around his head always. Carter says it often enough (in the rare moments that he dominates) that it stays with him. The boy is by far the prettiest out of them, though that’s no surprise.

“You will have to see, won’t you?” he asks. “No cheap ways out for you, princeling.” He rubs his back. Three minutes. Carter leans down, tucking his face in the crook of his neck. This is fine too, as near and dear to the temporary mortal as he can be.

Carter’s voice holds that normal uncertainty. “I’m worried, though,” he says.

He kisses the side of his head. “I know, you always are. Don’t be. I’ll take care of you.”

iii.

  
    “Bird!” Dominic Parennefer Kane is something else. He hangs out of Sadie’s arms, stuffed giraffe smushed between two bodies, making the telltale grabby hands for _Horus_ out of all people. Horus...ignores him, per tradition. Sadie shoots him a scalding look, and he’s bound to be scolded later.

    The child does not possess Duat sight, at least not yet. The ‘bird’ nickname is the children’s doing much to his chagrin. Dominic Parennefer is his _nephew_ , and he should ‘be nice.’

Ignoring him is the same as being nice, right?

    Horus likes few children.

    “Carter!’ Sadie calls. Her attention is back to Horus, as it should be, a non-threatening smile playing on her lips. Sadie looks different since the baby, but not in a bad way. It suits her. “He’s completely domesticated you.”

The Kane children love that word. _Domesticated._ “I’m well aware. I’m almost craving a war.” Dominic Parennefer squeals again. No wars, not with the children (he really needs to distinguish the Kane children from the Kane baby/babies; he’s going to confuse himself).

“I’m coming!” The boy’s timing did not line up perfectly, meant to be out of the shower before Sadie was slated to show up. He scolded the boy for agreeing to babysit without consulting him (not that he would say no).

Dominic Parennefer is set on the floor, and at a year and three months, he crawls at a scary rate. Horus is old, and it is hard for him to remember that the times are different; snakes do not slither across the ground, scorpions do not scuttle in this country. There is nothing to get the babe. Sadie sets the diaper bag on the coffee table. This week, there is a green streak in her hair, the baby’s favorite color.

Horus wraps his robe tighter around himself, eying the child with a wary concern. Carter would be devasted if something happened to him. Sadie would be destroyed. “How long will you three be out?” he asks. Sadie and her husbands. For the four Kane men---Horus, Anubis, Julius, Amos---there are four wives, though not evenly dispersed.

_Horus Kane_.

“Till about six. Want to get dinner?” she asks. Seven hours with Dominic Parennefer. He’ll nap for about three of them.

“We’ll see,” Horus responds. Children exhaust him. Carter wants one. He’ll change his ways for him. Carter is everything, after all.

The highlight of his life, his everything, finally comes out, wet curls loose and dangling down to his brows. He needs a trim but they’re also fine. Horus is always split between the two. “Dominic!” he says. Dominic Parennefer screeches, hurtling towards Carter’s legs, gripping them, trying to pull himself up.

Why does he look so good with children? Even the ankle-biters with Carter gets him heavy. Another confusing aspect in his life, befuddling both halves.

Sadie brushes her bangs out of her face. “You have everything handled?” she asks.

Carter nods, curls flopping. “I do.” He’s uncomfortably good with kids. “Have fun shopping.”

Horus looks between the three mortal Kanes. Dominic Parennefer has his father’s complexion but no curls. Sadie’s hair. Genetics are weird. “We will,” she says, though her eyes roll. He hates shopping too.

Sadie leaves after kissing each of them. Horus pulls his feet up on the couch to avoid the grubby babe, fully intending to take his midday nap, until Carter makes the remark: “And to think we’re having one.”

His heartrate sky rockets too high to sleep. “We have to agree on a surrogate first,” he complains. He’s too concerned about blood, rejecting some of Carter’s top choices.

Dominic Parennefer---Carter complains that he should just call him Dominic---slaps the steering wheel on his toy, bright lights dazzling and music chintzy. A broad smile pulls on Carter’s face. “We will. We always do. Then we can do the _other_ part.”

“That part?” Horus is good with not thinking inappropriate thoughts around children, but he often fights off intrusive ideas. “That is the good part.” Another anatomy lesson is fine.

Carter nods, wandering into the kitchen to pour a sippy cup for the baby. “Exactly. And it gives you some incentive,” as if he is some unruly adolescent in need of goal setting. Carter pours him that store-brought sangria that doesn’t taste exactly right, but it warms his stomach.

After being handed his glass, Horus leans against the back of the couch; he requested the couch be placed where it was for the purpose of being able to see everything easily in the apartment, including the balcony, vigilant in protecting his home. “We’ll get you that baby, my prince-consort-slash-king.”

The prince-consort-slash-king kisses the top of his head, smelling of lavender and sandalwood. Comforting smells. “I _do_ get everything I want.”

iv.

Carter goes through the primary steps at the hotel: memorizing points of exit, keeping his khopesh near the bed, putting up barriers, laying out and rearranging his magicians bag, etc. Horus watches amused, laid out on the bed. It is the same routine he goes through at every hotel, a perpetually nervous creature despite his best efforts. Despite the unfortunate implications, Horus enjoys it, almost, for it wakes a latent part of himself up. Not that _domesticated_.

    At about nine, Carter finally settles into bed, relaxed pajamas consisting of Horus’ white t-shirt and his own boxers. The kid grabs his…larger phone. His tablet. That’s what it’s called. Horus peels back the comforter for him, Carter slotting himself lazily against his side, mostly slouching at this point.

    “Another cooking show?” Carter asks, fingers fast on the bright screen. “You’re cute, birdie.” The only other source of light in the room is the television and the bedside lamp, but they all highlight Carter’s soft, edible parts.

    “I do try,” he answers, dropping his arm around his slim shoulders. “Only two episodes tonight, then we’ll go to bed.”

    “We?” he teases, but that’s it. Carter’s steady heat against his rib and thigh, curls carefully splayed on his chest. This became a new routine some time ago, simple, peaceful, yet fine in Horus’ heart, content like the simple old man he is.

    Except Carter squirms tonight, not even stilled by pressing him firmly to his body. He only makes it to the second commercial break before sighing exasperatedly at the boy, glancing down at him. His eyes linger on his princeling with that familiar sense of adoration, then fall to the tablet in Carter’s arms. Carter flips between messaging his sister (always in touch) and a shopping app on it. Baby related. Initially, Horus assumes it’s for Dominic Parennefer, but it’s all girl themed (and yellow). Flowers, pink elephants, purple bears, more gender neutral items that breach the system.

    Horus watches with him for a few seconds, even as the obnoxious ‘commercial’s over!’ tune chimes. Baby girl. Meritites Kane. Carter’s child. _Their_ child. He needs to remember that part. He’s only going to disappoint Carter if he fails on his part of the bargain.

    Shifting, he wraps his hand around Carter’s wrist. “And just what are you doing?” Horus asks. Carter’s eyes dart away, and he plucks the tablet from Carter’s hands, putting it on the table. The princeling protests with a startled noise, but he doesn’t get much further, pinning the kid by the wrists, straddling his waist. “Naughty, naughty thing.”

    Carter’s face flushes. “No I’m not. I haven’t ordered anything.”

    “Our agreement, princeling.” They came to the mutual understanding that Carter wasn’t going to look anything up related to _their_ child (he makes the exception for Dominic Parennefer) as it always saddens him on some primal level. “I may make an exception because you look delectable tonight, but you know better.”

    The boy’s shoulders sag. “I know.” Carter pulls his legs up, knees tapping against Horus’ back. “But, you know, the stuff’s pretty adorable,” he finishes, “just like our baby will be.”

    Horus does smile. “If she looks anything like you, you’re right.” He rolls his hips against the boy. “Maybe I need another anatomy lesson beforehand, though. Just to be safe.” Sex hasn’t slowed, but it’s a different level when he can experience the boy in a whole new way. Lot of touching.

    “I’m tired,” he complains, “not tonight.” Carter rolls his wrists, smiling in turn. “I wish she could have your eyes,” he admits. “I mean, not gold and silver, but one or the other. Probably the golden ones.”

    “All my children do receive them.” Again, anger almost hits at him. The only thing he can give this child is wealth, no physical proof she’s his. Horus kisses the boy’s cheek, lingering that low. “I promise. I’ll agree on a surrogate before too long. I’ll stop being difficult.”

v.

“Are you sure? This seems-“

“Hush.” Horus already feels the palace’s magic wearing down at him, a whopping minute within its halls. A trap for gods, almost, but his temple is much more receptive to him. As it should be. “Would I do anything with potential to harm you?”

Carter crosses his arms. Another fainting episode got them here. “No, but I think you forget I am not immortal yet.”

“I am glaringly aware of it,” he responds equally dry. “I wanted you as my _immortal consort_ within the same month I brought it up. I let you pick your own title and you hold out on me. And now we’ve stalled again, because you want a child. Please remember how devastated I’ll be if you die,” he jokes.

He sighs. “I doubt I can sleep for a week,” he complains continually. Horus shoves him down the hall, towards a guest room. It’s been ages since Horus has been here.

Ignoring the grousing, “Did you eat, like I told you to?”

“I did.”

“Then Ma’at will keep you. You are her king.” Horus kisses his temple. “I’ll stay until you fall asleep. Will that help?”

A reluctant nod. “My ba won’t go anywhere, will it?”

Horus grins. “Have I let it?”

It’s enough to quiet him. He gets ready for bed easily enough, and once he calms his nerves, Carter’s asleep before too long. Horus manages to get out of bed without waking him. He makes sure that he’s connected to Carter for any problems, ensures the palace is fortified, and manages to leave.

Two days go by slowly. The councils go by with ease, Sadie invites him to have dinner with her family, but the time is lazy. Horus forgot how to sleep alone almost, but Carter would want him to, so he sleeps at least three hours over the two days in the main palace. Horus plays with his griffins, taking them out, and feels the familiar comfort of fight-induced-panic. Things go smoothly in his mortal life too, paying the various mortal cleaners that care for their homes.

Horus often corrects himself, imagining Carter’s future godhood. It’s as incorrect as he can humanly be. Not godhood. Immortality. Carter Kane: Prince-Consort, Permanent Host of Horus (followed by his thousands of names). The boy has no interest in being a god, only being together. (Some times he reminds himself that when their prospective child dies, of old age of course, Carter will need help. And some times he wants to remind himself that he could just make her immortal too, but that opens a slippery slope. Where would immortality stop? How long until Ma’at killed him?)

The third morning, though, is a different problem. Breakfast with Mother, and then his princeling’s panic bangs at his mind. It hurts, almost. _Princeling_ ? He checks, first, before rushing off. Horus can’t prevent dreams, after all, and maybe this is just a bad dream. _Are you well?_ Horus asks.

_Heru-_

_I’ll_ _be_ _there_. Horus does kiss his mother goodbye like the good son he is, then easily returns to the other palace. None of that finding his room nonsense, easily placing himself within it. Carter doesn’t even let him get a glimpse before he’s hidden against him, little sobs wracking his little body. Bad dream. The snake. That’s what it always is. No amounts of assurances over…gods, how many years has it been? have soothed Carter. Annoying as hell, but what can he do?

He’s easily collectible, held close as Horus maneuvers them to the bed, no good reason for Carter to leave his arms, not now. By this point, he knows there is no reason to ask what the dream was about, how he’s feeling, and continual assurances do him no good now. It’s simply a moment of mortal-king weak in the god-king’s arms, stuttering out a small, cracked “I’m sor _ry_.”

Impossible to reason with in grief or joy.

Playing with his hair, Horus waits for it all to subside as little sobs into small sniffles; Carter wipes his face off before burrowing in the crook of his shoulder. Carter manages too to hate himself, uttering a quiet, “I’m sorry I’m such a disappointment.”

“Don’t start.”

Carter flinches. “I am. I have stupid dreams and can’t even do the one thing you request of me. I’m-“ Horus presses him closer by pulling on his hair, “-such a-“

“None of that.” He tries to keep the peace, kissing his temple. “You are mortal and I gave you a godly expectation. You have done nothing wrong, little prince.”

“You don’t want me mortal!”

Horus directs the servants quietly to prepare a bath. “I want _you_ , princeling, mortality or not. I’m not disappointed, dearest, I promise. Alright? It would have been nice if you slept these days, but we’ll get there. You’re still mortal, and I forget.”

“This is the one thing you’ve asked of me-“

Horus tuts. “You’re _fine_ , princeling. I hold no ill will for this.” He notices now that Carter’s back is sweaty. “We’ll try for a day, but I’ll stay with you. Better now than when you’re seriously injured.”

Carter is a broiling little thing, full of anger. Through gritted teeth, he admits, “I should have just gone back to sleep. You have so many respon-“

Sighing, he holds him closer. “And you are one of them. None of that, princeling. I’m not mad at you.” Sometimes, Carter needs reprimanding firmly with no room for dissuasion.

“…you’re not mad at me,” he repeats. He relaxes if a hair. “I’m sorry, birdie. _Not_ for waking up but for being a brat. Can you accept that?” Horus would rather hear no self-depreciation from his mouth, but he’ll take what he can.

One day, Carter will be able to take those refreshing naps, but if this week is not the week, that’s fine. He’s mortally perfect, so immortal perfection comes next. “Sure. I did turn you into a brat. You deserve it, after all.”

**Author's Note:**

> meritites kane: come to an ao3 near you by april
> 
> i meant for this to be smaller, but hey, i still hate it


End file.
